Confessions
by Unveiled Creativity
Summary: Post-First Class. Raven forces Erik to confront a topic they haven't discussed in months: Charles. Revelations are made. Slight Raven/Erik.


**Author's Note**: Inspiration for this little one-shot occurred after a third viewing of X-Men: First Class (I blame it on Michael Fassbender's - dare I say it? - magnetic performance). I've found so few Magneto/Mystique fics that I thought I'd try my hand at one. Happy reading!

At night when the Hellfire members disband and retire to their rooms, Magneto and Mystique shed their self-proclaimed titles for something a little more intimate. Raven enjoys the evenings she and Erik spend lounging on the sofa in the tiny den, her legs draped across his knees, watching the fireplace or television. Raven prefers this side of him, though he remains oblivious to that fact. No plotting against world leaders, no dispatching mutant spies, no costumes. It is the only time Erik allows Raven to use his birth name, and he hers. The only time he shows signs of return to the way he once was, with Charles and the team. _Charles_, Raven thinks, wrinkling her nose to avoid crying. No one except Emma knows how often her brother is on her mind. Raven feels the sensation of being struck by something sharp in the back of her head, the physical manifestation of Emma's mental invasion, and instinctively raises a hand to massage away the pain. _Don't tell Erik,_ she warns as he turns toward her.

"I'm all right," she says before he can speak. "Just. . . thinking."

"About?" His tone is easy, but he fixes her with that penetrating gaze he used on her in the bedroom at Charles' house months before, the same look he might have sported lifting submarines or rotating satellites. The look which demanded compliance, honesty. Is he aware he's doing it? She flushes a deeper shade of blue.

"Names" is her response. Erik repeats it, one brow cocked in what she supposes is mild interest.

"I was just considering renaming you," Raven leans forward and strokes his flattened hair. He flinches briefly when she touches him, and she wonders how long it's been since someone's shown him tenderness. Out of the corner of her eye, she spots his helmet on the hearth. Erik keeps it close as a precautionary measure, even though they are miles out of Charles' range and Emma wouldn't risk probing his mind without consent. "Helmet-Head is much more appropriate than Magneto, don't you think?"

Erick's initial apathy wanes as an amused noise sounds in his throat. "Inspired," he says and quirks his mouth into a forced smile, an expression Raven is certain she has never experienced. It's an improvement. After Emma relayed the news of Charles' handicap to the group a few weeks ago, Erik's reaction – Raven couldn't pinpoint the exact emotion – became evident in the trembling of any metal object within a ten-mile radius. The cabin they occupied after the Cuba incident remained in an unstable state for two days, shivering with the intensity of Erik's turmoil. People in the closest town blamed it on aftershocks of a sporadic earthquake. Erik wouldn't speak to anyone unless to bark orders, and those who left on an errand were glad for the reprieve. The roof rattled constantly, as did every kitchen appliance, so no one had a decent meal or sleep as long as their commander was in the state he was. Raven and Angel took turns trying to calm him down, talking through the bedroom door he had slammed and locked on them. Eventually, the commotion abated, and on the second night, everything stopped completely. Just like that. Raven was so unused to the quiet that she thought something had gone wrong. Though his episode ended, the group made the effort not to set Erik off again, withholding any news pertaining to Charles or the Academy.

"...But that's not all you're thinking about, is it?" Erik whispers. He has turned his attention to the hearth, where firelight lightens his eyes to a pale, almost colorless hue. Raven blinks back into the present moment and continues to comb his hair, skimming the deep-set lines in his forehead. His face, aged by the brutalities of life, softens a moment as his eyes drift closed.

"No," she says. She remembers summers spent exploring the property of Charles' family estate, lazing about on the terrace, swinging from ancient oaks. Erik will hate her if she confesses, and she can only fathom how the house will endure _that_ blow-out. But then again, he unofficially announced her as his second-in-command, and if she isn't honest, it'll prove she's not the woman for the job. "I miss him," Raven says carefully. She hears the scrape of metal against wood, the click of the television as it shuts off. "Erik," she continues, giving a stiff shrug, prepared to plead for her life. "I worry about him sometimes, stuck in a wheelchair, handling all those kids. He was our first real friend, you know? Despite the way we left off...I still care. He still matters to me." There is a subliminal quake to the house and Raven gives Erik's tensed shoulder a light squeeze. "If you want me to leave, I will. I didn't want to keep this from you, and I'll take whatever consequence you see – "

"Raven," he says through clenched teeth and she feels like cowering. "You won't leave. . .," Erik pauses, head tilted towards her, eyes opened and on the fire, "and I won't punish you." Raven exhales slowly, though her heart hasn't stopped pounding.

"So, you're not angry with me?"

"No." His tone isn't convincing. Erik squints at the clock next to his helmet. "It's late." He nudges Raven's legs off his lap and leans over to peck the side of her mouth, signaling the end of their conversation. "Good night."

"Wait," Raven says, holding his arm and already mentally kicking herself for the next question. "Are you – angry with Charles?" The television begins to rock on its stand.

"That was not an invitation to discuss him further, Raven."

"I understand," she says as she staves off the anxiety brewing in her stomach, "but are you?" _Curiosity kills, Raven,_ comes a quiet warning. He murmurs something about reconsidering his lenience towards her. "Please?" she presses. Erik rolls his eyes away from her, embroiled in his own thoughts. When he does respond, his hands are clasped around his knees and his focus has switched to the floor. He sighs through his nose.

"No, I was never angry with Charles. Disappointed, perhaps, but he and I wanted different things." His voice deepens to a rumble. "I am fairly certain he does not think the same of me."

"You didn't plan on deflecting the bullet into his spine," Raven whispers, kneading his arm as the helmet careens off the mantle and hovers inches above the floor. Erik's jaw trembles with his grinding teeth. "I'm sure he knows that. And besides, Charles doesn't have a spiteful bone in his body. He couldn't hate you. It's just not in his nature." Erik sniffs, but whether it's in confirmation or disbelief, Raven doesn't know.

"It's because of his confidence in mankind that – ," Erik begins, but waves the unfinished thought away, as if he's realized who he's speaking to.

"What?" Raven says. They are finally _talking_. Granted, it is very much a one-sided conversation, but he is opening up to her. Before she left him, Charles revealed little to nothing of what he discovered in Erik's mind. Tonight has presented the rare opportunity to discover what's really going on inside his head. "Charles' confidence in mankind is. . .?"

"It's none of your concern," Erik says as he attempts to rise from the sofa again. Raven stills him again, pinning his arms to the cushion in one fluid motion. "Raven."

"Tell me."

"Why?" His stare sends a shiver rippling down her lower back.

"I want to talk to you."

"Interrogate is more like it." Erik raises his eyebrows when Raven remains silent. "Well, isn't it?"

"No," Raven says, indignant, loosening her grip on him. "I thought you trusted me."

"Trust," he echoes and rises. Raven curls her legs under her, watching him crouch by the hearth. With a perfunctory flick of his hand, the poker clanks from its rack on the opposite side and glides over to stoke the fire. When he finally speaks again, Raven has to lean forward to hear him. "Charles' confidence in humans is what disappoints me the most. He is too considerate of those unlike us. It's unacceptable."

"And that was enough to break ties with him completely."

"Yes" comes the terse reply.

"Enough to leave him when he was suffering." Erik turns to her just as the poker cleaves a log in half. His face is tight. _Now would be best to remember your limits_, Raven reminds herself.

"As I recall, you did too. I suppose it's our mutual desensitization to pain that made abandoning him easy."

"It _wasn't _easy," Raven says. The all-too familiar burn of tears impairs her vision and she rubs a palm against her eyes. "And I'm not desensitized to pain. I would have stayed if I knew he'd never walk again." The image of Charles sprawled out on the sand, staring up at the sky with the vacant eyes of a dead man, springs to the forefront of her mind. She thought he'd be all right after Erik extracted the bullet from his back. "You don't know our past. We had the happiest childhood together, and I left him, just like that."

"Unfortunately, I did not share the same upbringing as you and Charles," Erik says, shifting to maintain his balance. As he does this, Raven spots the numbered tattoo on his right forearm, hidden partially underneath a sleeve. What did Erik know of familial bonds? How long had he gone without them? Who was there to protect him? Charles was Raven's safeguard when they were younger, watching out for her, shielding her from the horrors on the radio and what not. The worst pain she recalls feeling as a child was skinning her knee playing tag or tumbling off Charles' bike. Death and fear were intangible threats, reserved to the shadows of her room at night, after listening to Charles' ghost or boogey-man stories. Erik's fears were horrifying and real and she can't begin to imagine what he experienced. Raven reaches out to him, running a thumb along the reminder of his childhood, why he has chosen the path he has. There is a deep yearning within to transfer her memories to him. The good, bright kind.

"I'm sorry, Erik," Raven says through a broken sob, though she doesn't know the context in which she's apologizing. Sorry for his persecution, sorry for missing Charles, sorry for following him that day on the beach. Perhaps all of the above.

"It's all right," Erik murmurs, but his voice sounds congested and the slightest glaze has come over his eyes. His reaction startles her only momentarily, as Raven draws her hand up his arm to cup his face. There's good left in him yet. He opens his mouth like he's going to divulge this revelation, but nothing is said.

"I'm not Charles, Erik," she sniffles. "What's on your mind?"

He averts his eyes, looks down at her lap. "Enough," he says quietly.

"No." She grasps his wrists, tries to unfurl the fists he's made.

"Stop it," he growls.

"You can trust me."

Erik stammers, clenches his jaw, and sets the room on a steady rumble, his face contorted in the throes of agony. Raven touches her forehead to his, comforting him quietly, coaxing out the source of his anxiety. After a while, his breathing begins to even out.

"I deprived Charles of a normal life," he gasps. "I deprived him of his ability to walk. My own friend. I did that to him. I almost _killed_ him. Even with my powers, I let that bullet strike. Just like I let my mother – " Erik stares up at her, swallowing hard, and for a moment, Raven feels like she's Charles, witnessing and sharing in his vulnerability, "I should've taken it – "

"You were only protecting yourself," Raven says. _The way you've been forced to your whole life._

"I could have done _more_," he urges, giving their hands a light shake. "How will he ever forgive me? How _could_ he?"

"He does forgive you. Despite everything we've done, I'm sure he already has." He probes her face for a lie, but finds none. "I know it."

"I don't know, I don't know," Erik chants, burying his face in their entwined fingers. At first he resists, but Raven succeeds in gathering the top half of him into her arms, his lithe frame folding easily against her chest. After a few hesitant seconds, his hands wrap around her back, splayed on her skin, clutching her as they struggle together through their guilt.

They stay that way long after the last ember has burned out.


End file.
